Ready for Summer?

Woman's one-piece bathing suit, c.1920 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I am looking forward to summer.  I will be at the beach sportin’ my one piece like a boss.  Yes, a one piece, because no matter what kind of working out I do, or how good of a shape I can get this ole body in, the one-piece is the only style I will support, or will support me. Well, I take that back, I like those long tankini two pieces that look like one pieces.  Actually they are much more convenient when having to pee.  But my bikini days ended circa 1998.  This is mostly due to my post birthing belly.  

For those of you unfamiliar, after you give birth, especially more than once, the belly has a difficult time resembling any aspect of what it looked like pre-birth.  I had 2 emergency c-sections, so therefore my belly resembles a sad balloon.  One that was deflated, stretched out and sewn back together.  My belly button is like a true button now. It gathers in and holds all of this belly matter around it and when I suck in my gut it looks like it is tethered to my spine and almost disappears into this strange, black, belly hole.  It ain’t pretty.  SO one piece or belly covering piece, is the way to go for this Momma.  

But when I start to think about bathing suits I instantly get an itchy rash.  My bra and underwear support my body more than any bathing suit ever did!  The flimsy polyester/Lycra/nylon blend that bathing suits are made of, is pointless.  There is no support, the material does not breathe and the sizing is all wrong.  ALL wrong.  I got big boobys. They need support.  When they don’t have support it is a bad situation for all involved, for me, for them and for those that are exposed to them.   No one needs to see these girls hanging over the sad balloon, giggling like jello.  They need some sense of dignity.  I have worn a bra under the suit to facilitate that dignity. Then, after getting out of the water and the rest of my suite dried off, I was left with two large circles, as if spotlights on my chest.  The indignity!  

Now there are websites that specialize in making more supportive suits, like Cyberswim and Miracle Suit and even Spanx has gotten in on the action.  But I can’t spend that kind of money on something that I wear intermittently for a season, usually covered up by shorts and/or a t-shirt!  Don’t get me wrong.  I love me some Spanx, but I wear them under a dress going to a wedding.  I can manage being uncomfortable for a period of time at an event.  But I can not manage being that uncomfortable outside, all day, in the heat, running after my kids, playing in the sand and freaking out when seaweed touches my foot in the ocean. It is just too much to take.  

I like my underwear, after searching high and low, I finally found bras that fit, support and are comfortable.  Some of my underpants have seen better days, but I have about 5 good pairs in the rotation that are acceptable.  Can’t they make a suit that fits like a bra and underwear and covers the sad balloon?  Can’t they make a suit that is functional? Can’t they make a suit that doesn’t make you want to punch the air, screaming like a banshee while trying to put it on?  

Then there is the hoo haa maintenance.  The shaving and/or waxing of the nether region.  Since the stretch marks on my thighs are like arrows pointing to my hoo haa, there is no getting around it.  And I know they have these swim “shorts” but they are either so poofy that they look like you are wearing your grandmom’s shorts or they are so tight and riding up your ass that you might as well just wear the bathing suit bottoms.  Then there are the many styles of swim skirts, none of which seem to work with my bubble butt.   

One pieces or belly covering pieces are the way I roll. But, I have no hate for those mothers who can work the bikini.  Hell, if I had it like that, I would too.  Go for it! But do me a favor, DON’T sit at the kiddy pool next to me, and complain about the way you look!  I mean fuck you very much,  do you SEE what I am workin with?  If you think YOU look bad, what -in the name of all that is holy- do you think I look like!  Don’t sport that bikini with your perky, newly purchased boobs, that need no support, and the “insanity” abs you just spent 3 months working on and the NO cellulite, tight thighs that the Spin Class Gods have bestowed on you and utter ONE word of complaint about your body.  That is just gonna get you a bloody lip my friend.  Hell, when you look that good, show it, work it and OWN it!  When someone says ‘Wow, you look amazing!’  Say ‘THANK YOU!’ and move on.  No other explanation is needed unless they then ask what you do to look so good.  Then you can give your whole workout routine along with your latest wheat grass recipe.  But until then, just sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labor.  

crowded beach (Photo credit: notarim)

Summer, shore, sand, I am ready.  I will wear a bathing suit, I won’t love the way I look or feel in it, but I will enjoy the beach none the less...... Wait a minute, I haven’t enjoyed the beach since before First Born was born!  It is a constant worry and stress filled marathon that usually ends with someone me crying.  SO not only do I hate the way I look and feel out in the sweltering sun and hot sand, I am also trying to keep my two children properly covered in sunscreen while making sure they are, fed, watered and within eye sight amongst the 500 other people with whom we are sharing the beach.   Summer? I am looking forward to this?  OK how many months until fall?  

Lessons from Momma's Childhood

Lesson number one, my mom does not like when you rough up her kids.  

“What did she do to you?!”

“Huh?”

“Mrs. Brown, just called.  She said that Shannon told her, something happened to you in school last week.  What did Ms. ______ do to you?”

“Oh, I was talking and sitting on my knees and so Ms. ________ tied me to my chair.”

Flames were coming out of my mother’s ears and eyes.  I don’t think she said anything else, but her mouth was trying to form words.  I did not know what was wrong.  I didn’t tell her about getting in trouble in school because I did not want her to get mad at me.  When getting in trouble at school there was never a question that my parents would be angry with me.  It was the 70s.  I went to Catholic school.  There were no conferences to discuss the behavior.  There were no lesson plans, IEPs or rubrics set up to handle difficult emotional problems or difficulties.  There was punishment.  Physical, mental and emotional punishment, and that was before you got home.  

There was the third grade teacher, Sister Maureen, who cut my friend’s hair because she forgot her barrette and her hair was hanging in her eyes.  Sr. Maureen would also use ammonia to clean her desk and blackboards every day.  It is a wonder, as we were inhaling those fumes, that we learned anything.  I watched Sr. Maureen smack many a third grade boy around. There was Ms. Farrell and Ms. McCardle in forth grade who chastised me because I asked if girls could try out for the football team.   They took me out into the hall and both told me that I was a “loud mouth, brat ... always was, and always will be.”  

There was Sr. Saint Eileen, the principal, who made sure that the lunch room, and recess stayed segregated.  Boys on one side, girls on the other.   There was no playing together in the school yard/parking lot.  Girls were given jump ropes, the boys were given balls and a much, much larger section of the parking lot to play in.  

There was that one priest who you NEVER went to confession to.  Kids always walked out of that box crying. He yelled at one of my friends telling her that she was bad and may go to hell, because her mother did not take her to Church that past Sunday.   I went to him once. He told me that if I forgot to tell him a sin, he would know and God would be angry.  I was 7.  Lesson learned, and then rejected! 

In first grade, we had a teacher named Ms. _________.  She was young.  I remember, having on my newly pressed uniform and walking into St. Alice Elementary.  I was noticeably tinier than my classmates.  Actually there were about 4 of us who were really small,  Megan, Jennifer, Debbie and Anthony.  Of them I was the shortest.  The first week or so of school there was one boy who cried almost every day.  There was no comfort given to him.  He was told to be quiet and allowed to be teased by the other students. 

Being so small I had a tough time seeing over the desk.  I often had to scoot up on my knees so that I could write.  I was also a talker.  I LOVED social interaction.  I talked to anyone and everyone who would listen.  Who am I kidding, I wouldn’t even care if anyone was listening.  (hence, my blog) One person who was kind enough to always listen to me was my first friend Shannon.  She was much taller than me and it was an established fact that she was very smart.  She did not get in trouble and was loved by all the teachers. 

On this particular day, Ms. _______ was a bit more agitated than usual.  She kept telling me to “Sit like a lady!” and “Keep your mouth shut!”  I guess I didn’t heed her advise, because the next thing I know she was pulling my desk up next to her desk in front of the class.  Little did she know, this was not a punishment, as I loved being the center of attention.  I scooted my knees under my bum and since she was the only person next to me, I continued to talk to her and ask a myriad of questions.  I looked to the back of the room where my friend Shannon sat and she was visibly distraught.  Her eyes were pleading with me to stop talking.  Some of the boys were laughing, so I continued to annoy Ms. _________.  

When, what I thought was Ms.___________ slowly starting to come around and act silly, was really Ms._________ slowly starting to have a nervous breakdown.  She was screaming and yelling like a lunatic.  I started to laugh because I thought it was funny to see how her chest and neck started to turn red and that redness slowly moved up to cover her whole face.  

She opened her bottom drawer.  She took out a rope and some duck tape.  She picked me up by the underarms and slammed my butt down in the seat.  She then proceeded to tie my legs, waist and arms to the desk.  She then topped it off with tape over my mouth.  I was still laughing.  I thought it was amusing until I looked at many of the other children in the class.   They were terrified, and I started to get a little scared myself.   My thoughts went to my mother.  I wanted my mommy.  But then I realized that I must have done something terribly wrong for the teacher to be this mad.  This taught me the lesson that I should just take the punishment and forget about it.  Which is what I did.  

Then my mother got a phone call from Shannon’s mother.  After I told mother what happened, she did not get mad at me.  She sat me down and told me that if something happens at school that I should tell her about it.  She was mad, but not at me.

Within a few weeks, we got a substitute, for the rest of the year.  I don’t remember the nun’s name, but I do remember that when we asked where Ms._________ was, she told us that Ms. _____________ was horse back riding and got trampled by the horse, and she wasn’t coming back.    

I don’t think that there was a horse accident.  But myself and many of my fellow classmates were given the first lesson in Catholic guilt.  Most of us did not like this teacher, I know, in my head I imagined many ways that she would be hurt.  I never pictured a horse, but I did feel awful that my thoughts made her get hurt.  I think this went through many of the 6 and 7 year old minds that day.  ‘Ask and ye shall receive.‘ 

I found out years later, that my mother was the “horse.”  She told me that she went to the principal, at the time, Sister Mary Austin, who was a great woman, and told her in no uncertain terms that if she didn’t get rid of Ms. ___________ my mom would. Apparently, Sr. agreed with my mother and fired Ms. _____________.

Again, ‘Ask and ye shall receive.’ 

More likely, Karma’s a bitch...... and don’t mess with a lioness’s cubs!  

Valentine for the Romantically Challenged.

When growing up in the working-class suburbs of Philadelphia, I was never really wooed or romanced.   The guys I grew up with and dated were a blast to hang out with, could make everyone laugh, but romance was not on their radar.  Part of the problem might have been that we girls, did not take romantic gestures well.  If one of the guys we hung out with gave me flowers, I probably would have responded with “Whattiya, goin' to a funeral?” It was a good defense mechanism because vulnerability was not a good thing to show since it could then be exploited.  

After getting together with my husband, that changed.  We were a little older and wiser.  He was not sappy sweet, but was and still is - what I consider - romantic.  The Hub has shown me romance many ways over the years.

A time that stands out is one particular romantic get away.  This was before kids and before marriage. We took the train to a romantic B&B in Mystic, Connecticut. We had a beautiful room with a private bathroom and a fireplace.  We went out to dinner at a quaint 250-year-old building.  We shared a delicious candlelit dinner.  After dinner, we walked downstairs to the restaurant's Pub.  It was one of the coziest pubs you could ever walk into.  It was small with low, beamed ceilings and the large fireplace kept it very warm.  We sat at one of the rickety old table and chairs and had a few pints. We talked for a bit, but I wanted to get back to the room so that we could get out early the next day and see some sights.  I was so uptight then, and possibly still am to an extent, totally.  I have to work on that.  We get so few times together that I need to just let loose and not worry so much.  But NOT TOO MUCH, cause I can’t handle myself (as seen here.)  Anyway,  If I could go back to that little pub with The Hub and sit for 3 more hours I would.  

We went back to the room and I decided that I was going to take a bath in the neat, claw foot tub.  There was no question that we were having sex that night, because, well we were not married and did not have any kids.  So while I was taking a bath, The Hub (who wasn’t technically ‘The Hub,’ yet) started a fire, opened and continued to drink a bottle of wine.  

After my bath, I put on something slinky. As I opened the bathroom door, my eyes started to tear.  No, I was not overcome with emotion.  I stepped into the room to barely see The Hub, looking suave, sitting next to the fireplace with a drink in his hand.  He was smiling with a come-hither look.  He was also as lit as the fireplace.  He had turned the lights off but I could still see the smoke hovering around the wainscoting of the room.  

My calm response was “What the fuck, dude? Is the flue open?”  He looked at me and said, “Well yea, of course the flue is open. Whattiya think I’m an idiot?”  Coughing, I ran to the fireplace and said,  “If the flue is open, something is wrong.”  Then he started getting pissed.  His romantic plans had been ruined by my nagging need to breathe oxygen.  I was getting nervous and he was annoyed that I was not sufficiently wooed. He was trying to stifle his choking, as I reached into the fireplace and pushed the iron bar that opened the flu.  It was like a vacuum the way the smoke was sucked out of that room.  I turned on the lights to see if there was smoke damage to the beautiful canopy bed or the antique furniture.  It was all good.  But to be safe, we started to open the windows to make sure we could maximize the clearing of the room.  

It was February, in Mystic, Connecticut and really, really cold. The room temp dropped quickly.  The slinky lingerie came off quickly and I was under the covers with sweat pants, a sweat shirt, a hat, and gloves.  There was no sex. His romantic gesture was foiled. The Hub was pissed. He refused to even admit it was cold in the room.  He continued to sit in the chair by the fireplace and polish off that bottle and possibly another.  Somehow in his mind, this was my fault.  I, on the other hand, was not mad. OK, maybe a little mad but I was madder that he was mad.   

I do remember laying in that bed, as the smoke billowed out of the windows, thinking how nice it was to have someone in my life that actually wanted to be romantic with me.  I remember smiling and trying not to laugh, until the next day when we both laughed quite a bit. 

I was really uptight back then.  I still need to work on that but I think if the scenario played out now, we would have started laughing even before I opened the flu. Then we would have definitely had sex - if we weren’t too tired.The Hub has my heart.  We laugh a lot and he still shows me romance in so many ways:    

When we are talking and he will mindlessly play with my hair. 

When he makes sure the garage light is on, if I am coming home in the dark.  

When he starts my car on cold mornings so that it is warm when I get in.  

When he knows that I am upset, before I do and checks me with a “Yo, ya aight?”  

When we are driving together and he reaches for my hand.  

When he envelopes me in a huge bear hug and we both simultaneously take deep breaths.  

When he says, “You look pretty!”  even when I am not feeling pretty.  

When I am sick and he says, “Wow, you look like shit!, why don’t I take the boys out for the day and you get some rest?”   

When he asks me not to kiss him, because I may start “the launch sequence.”

When we watch a movie and he asks me to pause it several times to tell him what is going on.

When he asks my opinion about work issues.   

When he eats a meal that I make and sits back and says, “Good God, woman! That was  awesome!” 

When we quote movies together.

When he reads my writing. 

When he compliments me on how much I read. 

When he says, “You are such a good Mommy.”

There are countless ways The Hub is a romantic.  There are countless ways I am thankful for him. I am truly grateful for my romantic husband, who shows me love, every day.   So this post ends on the sappy side, and I am not going to respond with a snarky, cocky comment.  But if you have one, feel free!  

Happy Valentine’s Day. 

Teach Your Children Well

This blog seems to be all over the place, but I think I bring it together in the end. Just be patient.  (You will all be happy to know that I am looking into taking some refresher writing courses!)

I have been kicking around this blog topic of the how society views girls and women for 2 months now, when I just recently came across this post.  It broke my heart.  If you did not watch the video, it is sad tale of a young girl who made some poor choices, came across some very disturbed and mean people and she suffered tremendously.  The saddest part is that after she made this video - a plea for help - she took her own life.  

Kids should not be defined by the mistakes they make. Unfortunately, In this day and age, those mistakes stick around for a lot longer due to social media. Digital images are out there, forever.   I have said many times, that I am so thankful that there was no such thing as social media when I was a teen.  It honestly, would have ruined me.  I can not imagine having to relive my past bad choices over and over.  

I am a mother of boys.  Being a woman, I want to raise boys that respect and view girls as their equal.  There are definite differences in boys and girls, and those differences should be acknowledged, respected but not the constant focus.  

Being a girl was not easy.  It was a constant oxymoron, wanting to be thought of as cool and cute, tough and sweet,  hot and fun to hang out with.   Being overly concerned about  appearance and impression.  Wanting to know what others (mostly boys) thought.   Am I pretty? Do they like me?  What can I do to make them like me?  What do boys want? Who can I trust?

In my awkward pre teen years I was not so attractive.  I was off-the-charts short, painfully scrawny and had a big, honkin’ Roman nose. I really wanted to hang out with the guys.  They just seemed to have more fun and laugh a lot more than the girls did.  I acted like one of the guys so that I would fit in.  I cursed like them, I played like them, I tried to be as tough as them. I wanted them to treat me like they treated their guy friends. I wanted them to like me.  Which, as adolescence hit, turned into wanting them to LIKE me. 

I remember feeling alone and extremely self conscious. I also felt very sexual but so conflicted. It is something that girls are trained not to talk about or think about.  Little known fact #1: when girls go through puberty and after, we are just as sexually charged as boys of the same age.  

Society allows boys to constantly be thinking about and wanting sex.  Girls, physically, are going through the same things but are not allowed to show it in any way.  The girls who do, are labeled, and that label does not come off.  I remember thinking how important my reputation was.  Again, worrying about what others thought. Not only my reputation as someone who was not a tramp, but as someone who was fun.  Reputations really stick to girls. 

There is no doubt that girls with bad reputations did have it rough. They were strung along by guys, picked on by girls and ostracized by both.  But it was just an superficial image of who they were.  It was not the whole picture.  

It was the typical double standard. Boys could want sex, get sex and dog many girlfriends at one time.  Girls could not.  Period.  If we did, we had to hide it.  We had to be stealthy.  Make sure they guy would not talk. Only tell the closest of girlfriends.  This is where we found out that girls really had a tough time keeping things to themselves.  We kept any and all sexually related questions/confusions/conflicts to ourselves.  I am not sure much has changed since I was a girl.  

If we could allow girls -from a young age- to stop concentrating on what others think of them and start them focusing on what they think of themselves.  Just being pretty or likable or fuckable is not and should never be, enough.  But for so many it is.  

We are taught to think that attractive “female” attributes, in all forms, whether it’s being pretty, or polite, or submissive, or accommodating, or passive, or sweet, or innocent, are the primary things women should attain in life.  We are taught that our own hopes, dreams, fears and passions are secondary to what others think of us.  

We are told:

Don’t be a bitch (which usually means, Don’t speak your mind.)  

Don’t be pushy. 

Don’t tell people what you really feel.  

Never step on anyones toes.  

Always be helpful. 

Don’t hurt anyone’s feelings. 

Don’t be aggressive. 

Be sweet. 

Be kind.  

Be nurturing.

Put others ahead of yourself. 

Don’t be too smart.

   

It is exhausting. Especially when any these demands are not in your nature.  As females we were not put on this earth only to be of service.   As advanced as society gets this still seems to be an underlying standard.  Women’s lives, our very existence, is put aside so that men and society can shape us into some sort of ideal.  This is an unattainable version of: part Virgin Mary, part super model, part porn star, part girl next door.  

Back to raising boys.  One thing that I try to teach them is to be as respectful of their own bodies as we teach girls to be.  It is often joked about for a teenage boy to be locked in the bathroom for hours doing “god knows what.”  But you would never hear of someone joking the same way about a girl.  It is disrespectful to the boy.  It is an invasion of his privacy.  It also makes him believe that there is nothing sacred or private when it comes to his sexuality.  Which may lead him to show the same disrespect to all sexual encounters. 

We expect young men always to be after sex and admonish young women who show any interest in it, at all.  There has to be a balance.  There is no need to assume that every young man constantly wants sex just as there is no need to assume every young woman abhors it.  We are all sexual beings.  There has to be a healthy respect for physical and emotional needs and boundaries.  One must not outweigh the other.  

My boys are young, but I want them to be able to trust The Hub and I to be able to talk to us about anything.  First Born has already approached us about things he has heard on the bus.  (mostly vulgar names for body parts.) I was very proud that, although he was reluctant at first, when he realized that he would not be in trouble for talking to us about it, he was very open and honest about what he was hearing and the questions he had.  

The pre teen and teen years scare me.  I am not looking forward to heartbreaks and angst. But throughout it all, I want my boys to make the best choices about those they allow into their inner circle and those that they don’t.   I want them to surround themselves with those that make them happy, and allow them to fully be themselves, even when they don’t know who “themselves” are yet. And I want my boys to do the same in return.  I also want them to view girls and boys in the same light.  I don’t want them to put unrealistic expectations on girls, or think of them as a separate class.

Back to that poor young girl Amanda Todd, from the begining of this piece.  She needed people to stand with her.  She needed boys and girls, who knew what it felt like to be scared and to have made bad choices, to have her back.  If those that are on the fringe, bound together, maybe less bad choices would be made.  Maybe there wouldn’t be a need for young girls to crave and do anything for attention and love.  

Maybe if we as a society did not expect the worst of boys and men, but held them to a higher standard, they would not do the things that - not only - ruin other’s lives, but also ruin their own.  Maybe if we as a society did not make girls feel, less than, because they are not living up to some ideal, they would not do things that - not only - ruin other’s lives but also ruin their own.  Maybe.  I could be wrong, but I think it is worth a try.   

What are we having? Momma with a side of crazy!

“How are you making them?”

This question almost pissed me off as much as when he said, 2 days prior, “Can you pick me up a potato when you are out?” 

I cook.  I actually, really enjoy cooking and I am good at it.  I am no great chef, I am not some culinary wizard, but I can cook a damn good meal and have everything finish at the same time.   The Hub, he can cook also.  He cooks a pretty good breakfast.  He has cooked dinners, and they are good. He is not so good at having everything done at the same time, but he just needs some practice.  

I prepare all the meals for my family.  Breakfast is usually very easy, and requires, at the most, a toaster and/or a pan for waffles, eggs, precooked sausage, pancakes, french toast or cereal.  I prepare breakfast for the kids.  The Hub is usually long gone when the kids are having breakfast.   The only thing left from him is his dirty breakfast pan and dishes.  Lunch is very easy since it is just me and Little One.  Little One LOVES noodle soup, pb&j and bologna and cheese, easy stuff.  He used to be so much more difficult only because he had a food sensitivity to rice and oats.... I know!  But for the first 2.5 years of his life if he had anything with rice or oats in them he would projectile vomit, while having diarrhea at the same time and then sleep for an hour.  It was scary and an extremely rare problem known as FPIES.  (Food Protein Induced Enterocolitis Syndrome) But that is a whole other blog.

Dinner.  Dinner is the one thing that I love to cook and serve.  It is also the one meal that causes me the most angst and frustration. One major problem I have is during the prep of dinner, I usually have First Born, Little One and Dog, up my ass.  

They want snacks.... “No, I am making dinner.”  

They want drinks, “Fine, but only water or milk.”  

They want me to put in another dvd, “Just watch what you are watching now!” 

Little One needs me to wipe him.  “You are getting to be a big boy and you need to do that yourself.  WASH YOUR HANDS!”  

I tend to get into a zone when cooking.  I like the challenge of doing as much prep work so that when the actual cooking starts, I can jump right in.  I also love crock pot meals.  They are usually very tasty and I love that they cook all day and make the house smell good. I make a damn good pot roast in the crock pot.  I usually make the pot roast without potatoes because the boys don’t like potatoes.  I pour the pot roast over egg noodles.  That way I can leave some noodles plain and the boys will eat them that way.

The Hub has repeatedly asked why I do it this way, and I explain it to him.... every time.  Mind you, he loves the pot roast, just wants it with potatoes.  I have thrown potatoes in there before, just for him. But we rarely have potatoes in the house.  We haven’t had pot roast in some time because we were trying to get away from red meat.  But since then, I have found some good organic, grass fed beef, that I will cook on occasion.  I prepped the pot roast early one Sunday morning. I chopped the veggies, crush the garlic, mix the tomato soup, Worcestershire sauce and mustard, then brown the meat before I put it in the pot.    The Hub was right there in the kitchen with me.  He asks, “Do we have any potatoes?”  It took all I could not to stab him with a fork.  “Nope,” I said.  Then as the day went on and the yummy smells of the pot roast wafted throughout the house, I had to run out to a wellness seminar that my friend was doing.  It was going to be gone for about an hour.  As I was leaving, The Hub says, “Can you pick me up a potato while you are out?”   My response was calm, cool and collected....“WHAT?  Seriously, you want me to go buy you a fucking potato?  I am making it with noodles!”   

“What is wrong with getting me a potato?  I don’t want you to do anything with it. I will nuke it and put the pot roast over it.  What is the big deal?”, he answered with all the exasperation of my 9 year old.  

I hated him so much right then.  I seriously wanted to gouge out his eye balls.  What the fuck do I cook for?  No one appreciates it.  My sons act as if I am poisoning them.  Their reactions to new foods is comical.  First Born always hated tying new food.  Little One will eat anything you put in front of him, unless First Born is around. Then he usually takes his cues from his older brother.  My husband likes my cooking.  But it always pisses me off when he adds salt before even tasting it, or how he always has to have bread. And God forbid I make a meal without meat!  

When I got home... with a potato.... he was sitting on the couch in front of the big screen that my extremely generous, parents got us for Christmas.  He hardly ever watched TV, before this Christmas.  Now I come home, the house is a mess, and he is watching TV.  As much as I love the new TV, I hate it!  As I was getting dinner ready,  he started to say something about not being hungry.  The look I gave him advised him otherwise.  And yes, the mo-fo microwaved the potato and put his pot roast over it.  Whatthefuckever!  

A few days later, we were talking on the phone while he was at work.  We were trying to coordinate a dinner time, when I told him that we were having pork chops.  “How are you making them?” He asked.   I did not like this question.  I was going to bread them and bake them, but seriously did not want to tell him that. I felt he lost all privileges to know how I was going to make them.  Especially if he had another suggestion as to how he wanted them prepared.  He then said, “Can’t you just sauté them in a pan with a little oil?”  Why, yes.  Yes I can, if you want to eat the most bland, un-flavorful,non tasting, pork chop ever.  He then informed me that he did not want it breaded.  But breaded is the only way the boys will eat them.  When we sat at dinner that night, and I handed him the pork chop that I made for him, not breaded. It was not good.  I tried some recipe on allrecipes that seemed good, but it wasn’t.   I was about to jump on him like a spider monkey if he asked for a breaded one.  He sensed this.  He did not ask.  

I don’t know, maybe it is just me.  But if someone was making my meals for me, on an almost daily basis, I would not suggest ways to cook it.  I would say Thank You.  Thank you for preparing my dinner, with love and care.  Thank you for picking out the things that all of us like, so that we can sit together and eat.  Thank you for taking the time and effort to consider what would make EVERYONE at the Friggin table happy.  Thank you for not being selfish and only preparing foods you like.  Thank you for considering the nutritional value of our meals.  THANK YOU! 

So the next time someone prepares you a meal. Just say, Thank You.  And if you have suggestions for how to improve the meal, try them out on your own.  Especially if you are dealing with a crazy wife who has only so much patience to go around.  

Crazy Wife + Meal Preparations = "Thank You". 

I have a fb page now!

Here it is.

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Momma O's Wisdom. Preached (not always practiced!)

Here is a randomly numbered list of things that I have learned, am learning and will never learn.  All good, sound words of wisdom, from my brain to your eyes..... Good Luck.

1.  Confidence does not mean being “full of yourself.”  It is quiet and restrained and it’s presence is a comforting feeling for all involved.  

2.  NO one is looking at you! I mean, people see you and acknowledge you, but they aren’t examining you like you do to yourself.  Think about it.  When you look at someone, do you go over every detail of their person?  Do you obsess over the wrinkle in their brow or the way that their shoes match their hat?  

3.  Don’t worry about what other’s may think of the way you look.  Dress up or don’t, put on makeup or don’t, fix your hair or don’t. Either way, do what YOU want to, at any given moment.  Don’t fall into a routine of doing things just because it is what you always do.  If you want to put makeup on to go to the grocery store, but you never do that, do it anyway.  If you want to go to the mall in yoga pants but you never go out dressed that casual, do it anyway.  Don’t over analyze, just do what you feel.  

4.  Stop concentrating on what you do wrong and focus on the things you are good at.  I hate laundry, but my family never goes without clean clothes. No, I may not be organized, but it all gets done, one way or another.  

5.  Say what you mean and mean what you say.  This doesn’t mean hurting others.  Know what to say and WHEN to say it.  There are times that my mouth just keeps going and going and going.  (hence this blog) I struggle with that.  But I am learning that there is some power in keeping thoughts and opinions to yourself.  That way you can organize them and reserve judgement until all the facts are presented.

6.  DON’T Bullshit.  Don’t put things out there that you don’t want to come back, because it always comes back! 

7.  When in doubt shave your legs, pits and hoo-haa.  I can’t tell you how many times I have been in the shower, and debated what was going to be exposed before my next shower.  When trying to figure out what had to be shaved, I have always guessed wrong.  

8.  Pay your debts and control spending. Yes, you/your children/your husband may deserve a big ticket item, but when you pay for it with money you don’t have, you will not be happy.  You will feel worse.  Which will make you look for something that makes you feel better and the cycle continues. This goes for food too.  Just replace the first sentence with “Exercise and control eating.” Replace ‘big ticket item’ with ‘Cheese Steak Stromboli.’  Go ahead, I will wait.

9.  Keep your shit together and when you don’t, and you really screw up, OWN it.  Apologize to whomever you need to and move on.  Don’t dwell in it. Don’t make ridiculous excuses and remember that no one is perfect.  This can be hard, but it is worth it.  

10.  Get help. Don’t hold it in.  No matter what it’s form, therapy, exercise, talking with a friend, a prescription...  But when you unleash your shit onto someone that is NOT a professional, make sure it is NOT the same person every time.  It can wear them down and burden them unnecessarily.  Spread the love and let someone else listen to your problems.  You will be surprised who has the same problems and you can help each other. 

11.  You ARE special but so is everyone else.  Remember that everyone has their own journey.  Everyone has their own, very colorful, baggage.  Some carry that baggage opened up and out in front of them and some may be hiding that ugly shit way, way in the back.  Don’t judge them for they way that they carry it or what is in it.  Most of the time they did not pack those bags.  

12.  As my good friend has said, Live Out Loud.  Stop apologizing for being you.  If you don’t like something CHANGE it.  You can talk it out, and analyze how you are going to change it, but don’t keep complaining.  Don’t wait for someone else to come along and do it for you.  That is no ones job but your own!  

13.  Be there for your friends and loved ones, but don’t fix their shit!  If they ask for help in fixing something, help.  If they need a hand, offer it, but it is not not not your responsibility to make them all right.  

14.  Do it because you WANT to.  If your intent in helping someone is just to help them and the reward of that help is the great feeling you get, go for it.   Don’t do things thinking you are owed something in return.  This will always leave you disappointed.

15.  Make your own rules.  Put on your big girl panties and stop worrying about what your mother/father/husband/sister/brother/neighbor/most favorite blogger would do.  Do what you feel and you will be surprised at how much more respect you get.  

There you have it.  Please, leave some more words of wisdom in the comments section below and make sure you pass this on so someone else can join in. 

Sympathy for the Devil

The Hub handed me the newspaper this morning and said, “You gotta see this one.  Read the Corbett article and my comments!”  He handed me the Philadelphia Inquirer with the second article on the front page reading, Penn State sanctions ‘unlawful’ by Amy Worden.  The article had paragraphs and sentences underlined and circled, in blue bic pen, by The Hub along with his profanity filled handwritten comments. The Hub had some really good comments and I am going to add some of my own. Here is a digital copy of said article.

Did you read that?   If not here is a synopsis.  Corbett is going to use taxpayer money to sue the NCAA for the sanctions they issued on Penn State.  They issued these sanctions after Jerry Sandusky raped young boys in Penn State Football facilities during and after Penn State officials were warned about his behavior, yet continued to enable him.

This lawsuit is coming from Corbett who is a member of the Penn State Board of Trustees.  Conflict of interest maybe?  His complaint is that Penn State and the local Penn State businesses may lose money!  MAY lose money.  The only statistic provided was from “Michael Desmond, a State College business owner.... said his seven restaurants were doing 10 percent less business on football weekends...”  Boo F-ing Hoo!  

Hey, I have an idea. Instead of suing the NCAA, why not sue the estates of Jerry Sandusky, Graham Spanier, Tim Curley all others that were directly involved in the raping of boys and the covering up of those rapes.  All those big tough guys who turned a blind eye to what Jerry Sandusky was doing as they let him have access to the locker rooms, game tickets, and preferential treatment. They did NOTHING when getting reports of Sandusky acting “inappropriately” with children.   Sue THEM so that the local businesses can recoup their money.  It was THIER fault that they committed perjury, conspiracy, and endangered the welfare of children.  As representatives of Penn State Football, the NCAA had every right to come down hard on them.    

This attitude that the fallout (i.e. NCAA sanctions of Penn State), of these crimes are hurting the ‘innocent’, (i.e. the local businesses and students),  is exactly the point.  No, these businesses did nothing wrong.  No, these students did nothing wrong.  Will they feel the effect?  Absolutely.  Should they seek justice?  That is their INDIVIDUAL right.   They should go after those that caused the sanctions in the first place, not the NCAA.  The NCAA was the judge who issued the sentence, not the perp who did the crime.  Why is the state going to foot the bill for suing the NCAA? All of the sudden the State has this concern for the innocent victims of these sanctions.  Conveniently 6 months after the sanctions were imposed, conveniently after football season?

It is highly suspect that Corbett is filing this lawsuit in support of all these wealthy business owners and Penn State Board of Trustees, in a year before an election.   It will also go over really well with the angry alumni that he is going after the big bad NCAA and all their power.  While that may be needed at some point in time, this is not that time.  All of this and the REAL innocent victims - those children who were tortured and raped by Jerry Sandusky and were further tortured by those who knew and did nothing to help them - are being ignored, again.  Does he really want to drag these rape victims and their families through this scandal another time, so that he can win some high powered votes?  Well, it looks that way.  

Hey, Penn State is not hurting for money, too much. They just gave Graham Spanier $3.3 Million after he was forced to resign.   He is under indictment for gross misconduct at Penn State and they just gave him a severance package?   Yet the victims of Jerry Sandusky have not gotten any recompense.  WTF!   

So I don’t have any sympathy for Penn State or it’s Board of Trustees (Tom Corbett).  They made their bed, now they have to lie in it.  It shouldn’t be too hard for them.  They have been in bed with much, much worse.  

12/14/2012

I feel like writing because writing is my outlet.  My therapy.  With the events that have unfolded in Sandy Hook Elementary in Newton,CT, it is hard to fathom their pain.  I don’t want to.  I don’t want to even go there. I won’t allow myself to imagine or contemplate those children and their families.  I don’t want to hear about the brave teachers or scared 5, 6 and 7 year olds.   I have not watched the news or coverage since the story broke.  I have been keeping up by reading intermittently online.  Also facebook is blowing up with some wonderful  comments, tearful condolences and idiocy. 

“Now is not the time to talk of gun control.”  

“Now is the time to talk of gun control.”  

“I have a friend who’s sister’s brother-in-law’s, cousin lives in Newton.”  

“We need to put God back in schools.”  

“We need to lock up the mentally ill.” 

“We need to focus on treatment of mental illness.” 

“We need to hug our children and pray.”  

“If one of those teachers was armed, this guy wouldn’t have killed so many.”

“God is teaching us a lesson.” 

The list goes on.  I agree with some, and with some, not so much.  

There is no reason.  There is no answer in this chaos.  There is no cut and dry solution. I never understood the need for guns, unless you hunt for your food.  It just doesn’t make sense to me.  Controlling who gets guns and what kind they get, might help.  When you can walk into a Walmart, fill out a piece of paper with an id, and purchase a semi-automatic rifle, it just makes no sense to me.   An id should not be the only requirement.  Anyone ever hear of a fake id?  Anyone ever wonder if a Walmart “associate”  would be more or less apt to spot a fake id?   Maybe there should be a more lengthy process to obtain such a weapon. There should be a psych evaluation involved when purchasing weapons; a series of questions as to WHY in the HELL anyone would want or need a weapon of mass destruction.  That is what it is. The speed in which the bullets are fired, can kill dozens at a time.    And did the founding fathers really want to protect the rights of those that want to buy military style weapons for “recreational” use?  But gun control is not the only subject to consider. 

As far as God in the schools, talking of God in schools will do no good if faith is not in the home.  And who is to say what was taught in the home of that killer?  Besides that, even if God was taught in both the home and the school, how would that cure mental illness?  How would that compensate for the chemical imbalance or damage in the brain tissue?  I don’t think God had anything to do with this tragedy.  I don’t think that God “lets” these things happen.  I think they just do.  Terrible things happen and God is always there to pick up the pieces.  God is there as the comfort and the solace.  God is not plotting ways to teach society a lesson.  God is not stepping away because he is not ‘welcome’ in schools.  God is there no matter what, when ever and where ever we are.  God is in our hearts no matter what.  That is just my belief.  I don’t know if it is correct, but I pray to God to help those families.  I pray that they can continue another day.  I pray and pray and pray.  

I have no answers.  I had to tell my First Born - 9 year old - what happened, because I knew he would hear of it in school, from friends.  I sat him down and said that a man went into a school an shot and killed many people.  His first reaction was, “It was in a High School, right?”  Fighting back tears, I had to tell him that it was not a high school but an elementary school.  He said, “Wow, that is bad, like real bad! Mom, why did this guy do it?”  I told him that we don’t know.  I told him that his brain did not work right and there might be no reason that he did what he did.  It was just a horrible, horrible thing.  First Born looked at me and shook his head.  I told him to say a prayer and whenever he thought of it again to say another prayer and another.  

He grew up a little more after that talk.  He lost a sliver more of innocence.  He was forced to deal with an adult matter, like mental illness and evil acts.  It is such a fine line to walk when you have kids. How much do you tell? What do you leave out?  How much information can I give without it terrifying him?  

Mental illness needs cures.  Like cancer and other diseases.  We need to value people with mental illness and work to help them. It affects us all in one way or another.  If we don’t work to recognize and diagnose the problem with an individual, it can turn into a societal problem. If we cut funding to school nurses, psychologists and counselors, who will be there to help the struggling child?  Who will be there to catch the socially awkward little boy who may be able to do the work, but needs something else.  

There are so many different kinds of mental illnesses and defects and disorders that so much more needs to be done.  It is hereditary. There are problems that occur because the way the brain is formed in utero and there are problems that occur because of being  brought up in a completely screwed up environment (which is said to also change the brain chemistry.)  Drugs and alcohol play a huge part in altering the brain and sometimes coincide with the mental illness. 

The stigma needs to be lifted and the problems can not be ignored.  I know that I have struggled with anxiety and depression. I take antidepressants. I am always monitoring the way my kids handle stress.  I have provided therapy for First Born, when he was having difficulties with a bully in school and the struggles of having me in a hospital for almost 3 months.  I go to therapy myself periodically when I feel I need it.  A good friend called them “mental tune ups.”   People should not be afraid to get the help when they need it and they should not be made to feel “less than.”

I don’t have any answers.  I don’t know.  We need to love our children.   We need to take care of them with the full weight of that responsibility.  The tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary in Newton, CT,  rocked our world. Pray for them. It reminded us of how precious life and little ones are. It reminded us of the amazing hearts of our teachers. The horrific acts make no sense.  It is unfathomable. And it will forever change the way we as parents feel, when we walk away from the school, after dropping off our precious ones.